A Study In Time
by TimeLordWithAStory
Summary: With the world's only consulting detective dead and his flatmate considering a similar jump new terrors are threatening London. The Doctor and Sherlock need to find the source of the problem, all the while remaining hidden and protecting John.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a note: This is post-Reichenbach, and John still thinks that Sherlock is dead.**

John stood in line, a basket dangling off his left arm. Inside, a jar of jam and a gallon of milk.

He sighed heavily and glanced at the line in front of him. Two more people. He sighed again and, shifting his weight momentarily, adjusted his cane on the store's cheap carpet. Ahead of him, the lady in line swiped her card at the machine and grabbed her bags.

The man directly in front of John stepped forward, dragging his feet and stumbling, with all the appearance of a drunk man. He practically fell upon the checkout, and raising his hand pointed vaguely behind the cashier. He muttered a few drunken words.

"4 packs... Nico-... -atches..."

The lady behind the counter rolled her eyes. She reached behind her and pulled down 4 packs of the cheapest brand.

"No, no." The man muttered. "More... Expensive."

She rolled her eyes again. "Sure, mister. Here you go."

She gave the total and he paid in a wadded ball of cash, stumbling off before she could even give him his change.

John approached the counter, struggling to keep his eyes off the cigarettes and nicotine patches on the rack. He barely glanced at the cashier as he set his items on the table.

"Ha. Betcha that man won't last very long off his cigarettes", she muttered to John. "Stupid drunk. Don't even know 'ow he managed to find his way in here. Must have been really desperate."

John bit his tongue. Ever since Sherlock's... incident, he had struggled to keep a clean mouth. Sherlock had never appreciated his use of colourful language, and it hurt John to do anything now that would disappoint him, dead (no, he was _missing_) or not.

"I suppose. Thank you." He took his bags from the counter with a considerable amount of force and limped out the door.

Walking down the street he struggled to keep his eyes downcast, hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He didn't know what it was about today, but something was making the absence of his excessively observant companion even more horrible.

Finally reaching Baker Street, he mounted the steps to 221B and unlocked the door. On the way upstairs he passed Mrs. Hudson going down.

"Oh, afternoon dear." She smiled sweetly at him. "I've placed your letters on the table. Quite a lot today." She patted his arm and continued downstairs.

John frowned. More complaints, probably. And condolences. Those were the worst. Even two years later there was always someone to pour salt in the wound.

At last he limped up the top step and opened the door. On the coatrack still hung Sherlock's favourite dressing gown and an extra scarf. Everything was exactly as it had been two years earlier, save for the accumulation of dust on the skull Sherlock had always kept on the mantle. John hadn't even bothered to wipe Sherlock's footprints off the table, and the black scuffs still remained, buried under the newspapers dating back to three weeks ago.

John walked wearily into the room, aching when no comment arose about his "being late" or "forgetting the milk". Nothing even about fetching the phone from Sherlock's pocket.

John limped to the fridge, his right leg now nothing more than a stiff limb, hanging from what he considered a dead tree. Nothing happened to him anymore.

Opening the fridge, he shoved the milk in with a sudden frightening force, rocking the small fridge back and forth. There hadn't been anonymous body parts in 221B for over two years.

John needed to do something. The long, quiet nights were too much. He no longer heard the gentle clinking of vials from Sherlock's "laboratory", no longer heard the jabbering voices of the news reporters on the telly late into the night.

Lestrade hadn't called in weeks, except to inform John that Molly's birthday was coming up in some weeks. November 23, he had said. He had told John quite simply that he should come.

"Watson, Molly's birthday is coming up. We'll be having a celebration, I should think. On the 23 of this November. I should like to see you there. It's been a long time."

When John had made no comment, Greg had sighed.

"You know John, Sherlock had always spoken highly of his 'great companion' to us. I don't think he should like you to fall into despair because of what he did. We all believe in him." And with that, the conversation had ended.

Yes, thought John. You all believe in him. Except maybe Anderson. Stupid Anderson. John recalled the last time he had encountered Anderson. He had met him on the street outside of Angelo's restaurant. John had blatantly punched him in the face. Hard. And walked away.

Out of the corner of his eye though, he was sure he had seen Angelo in the doorway. He had smiled and saluted John. Now John sat on the sofa. A crumpled man. Defeated. And by his own friend, whether intentionally or not. But he still believed.

**IF YOU'VE JUST READ MY FIRST CHAPTER, PLEASE, LEAVE A REVIEW IF YOU LIKED OR DISLIKED IT! I'M HAVING TROUBLE TELLING HOW FAST THE STORY IS MOVING AND WHETHER OR NOT IT'S BORING READERS. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS EXTREMELY HELPFUL AND DOES NOT OFFEND ME, IT TELLS ME WHAT I'M DOING RIGHT AND WRONG! THANKS A TON TO THOSE WHO DO LEAVE REVIEWS, IT ONLY TAKES A MINUTE AND IT HELPS MAKE THE STORY BETTER! I ALWAYS CREDIT IDEAS IF I USE THEM AND REPLY TO ANY QUESTIONS AND MESSAGES I RECIEVE.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So here's chapter two! Thanks to everyone who's reading this, and don't worry, it gets more exciting. :) The Doctor should make his appearance in a few chapters, so stick with me Whovians!**

John had replayed the last few days of Sherlock's life again and again in his mind.

Willing away the empty hours of his days. He still could not believe that Sherlock had died. That he had lied to everyone, and then just... _left_.

Beyond the reach of any mortal. It just didn't make sense. Many times Sherlock had been cold and hard, puting on a tough face for the world. But there were times...

John could never figure what, but there was something almost... childish in Sherlock. A need to laugh. To be human. To make mistakes. To relax his guard.

But he would have never done it in public. But still...

John still remembered the first case he had worked with Sherlock. "A Study in Pink", he had called it. He remembered laughing in the hallway with Sherlock, joking about his time in the war.

And then, Sherlock's defense of Mrs. Hudson. How he had gone to such great lengths to protect her.

Even John had been frightened of the rage he showed that night, the passion. No machine could have passion such as that!

But still, John wondered. Sometimes he treated poor Molly with such utter disregard that he could be nothing but cold on the inside.

And his excessive arrogance in some cases was so strong that John felt he knew two different people, both sides of Sherlock.

And then, ever since the fall, John had wondered just how much he had mattered to Sherlock. For goodness sake the man had _drugged his coffee as an experiment! _

But all the laughter they had shared!

And yet, some of their conversations had been so shallow and cold, that John was so confused.

Would Sherlock have really been willing to leave him behind? To go where he could not follow? Or had he just been too greatly ailed by his own intellectual genius?

Lestrade was right. John needed to get away. To do more than just survive with the bare minimum, going out only when absolutely necessary. In the absence of Sherlock, John had gained at least twenty pounds.

Apparently with no one to keep him on his feet for days on end a man could easily subside to laziness.

Now John often sat for days on end, staring at Sherlock's violin and wishing for its soothing tones.

Mycroft looked no better weight- wise, and it seemed that because of him at least four more bakeries opened monthly.

John huffed and ran his hands through his hair. Like the rest of him, it had grown long and unkempt in Sherlock's absence. There was so much to think about.

John wanted so badly to believe that Sherlock was alive. Day after day he searched for signs of him, but it seemed that there were none.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, next chapter! Anyone have any idea who T.W. is? Please rate the story! Message me if you have ideas or have something you'd really love to see in the story! The Doctor's almost here!**

Suddenly, John's laptop emitted a beep from where it was perched on his desk.

He struggled to his feet and limped to his desk. The screen revealed a low battery symbol.

Muttering a mild curse he plugged in in and sat down behind it. Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore.

Slapping his head into his hands he cried out. He clenched his hands against his temples, leaving nail marks in his own flesh. And he wept.

He cried out to the silence. "I'm sorry, Sherlock! I'm so, so sorry."

For an hour he sat that way, muttering apologies, all the things he had never told Sherlock. That he had enjoyed their friendship and that in multiple cases, the adventures they had shared together had prevented the suicide of one war medic suffering from war withdrawal.

What would Sherlock have done if he died? Would he have leapt for joy at another body? In the back of John's mind bitter thoughts were forming.

His heart, though, argued. For a minute the battle raged onside of him. Then he slammed his hands on the desk, sending a mug over the edge.

The crash shattered John's nerves. Finally, weary and tear soaked, he glanced at his laptop.

He had a bar open. Some website... He clicked on the tab and practically fell out if his chair when he remembered what he'd been looking at.

John hadn't opened his blog in months. But now it lay scattered across his screen.

In the top corner, 3 messages blinked. One dated back to almost three years ago, a excessively long letter from someone who had followed his blog with the utmost dedication.

The next was an notification from the website informing him that an updated website had been created nd he had the option to move. He laughed drily. As if he needed that. He hadn't posted a thing in over 16 months.

The last he opened reluctantly. To his surprise, no letter appeared, no ad, just a link and a simple note.

"My dearest Doctor," he read aloud. "I think it might interest you to see this. Be cautionary of the video, though. I do not think it would do well for you to see it. I wish that you be encouraged by it, as it has given me much hope. I fight this war with you, John. Always an aquaintance, T.W."

John clicked the link. The page that popped up was not what he expected. He had expected to see a colourful display with some church logo and encouraging quotes page. Or maybe a fellow blogger with some wise words.

What he was not expecting though, was a chat room themed with dark colours.

The title was a simple block lettering reading "#BelieveinHolmes" under that, thousands of posts, encouraging words mostly.

And then, a video had been posted. Filmed from below, it showed the front of St. Bart's. On the rooftop, Sherlock was frozen, phone to his ear.

John contemplated the play button. His heart pounded in his chest, and his vision threatened to go black. He quickly scrolled on.

Below that, the stories began, the majority of them actually quite logical. And all of them explaining Sherlock's survival.

For hours John sat, staring at the screen. He reviewed each proposition in his mind, thinking over the details, no matter how much it pained him.

Some he could rule out as improbable automatically, like, one he had read recently involving a helicopter, Mycroft in an inflatable skirt, and some pills.

Others though, seemed almost as if they could be true. John almost dared to hope. Finally, driven by hunger, he turned to the fridge.

He pulled out the jam. He ate a few spoonfulls straight. He sliced a piece off a loaf of bread and returned to the couch, gnawing on it.

Contemplating his laptop, John tried to shove down the loneliness inside of him. He flipped on the telly and once again picked up his jar of jam.

He also grabbed the day's newspaper off of the table. He silently thanked Mrs. Hudson for being kind enough to fetch it for him.

As the news caster droned on he flipped through the thin pages, muttering to himself.

"Hmm, 'family finds gold hidden away in basement'. Ugh. 'New bakery opening December 12'. At it again, Mycroft? Sherlock always said you could never keep a diet."

At last John finished with the advertisements. he checked daily, looking vainly for any sign of Sherlock. It shocked John to count how many odd cases he had been forced to turn away since the deaths of the consulting criminal and detective.

Each case had been a crack in his defenses, sending fresh waves of agony through his mind and causing his limp to flare up spontaneously.

Now, looking at the ads, an idea slowly bloomed inside his mind. John stood so quickly and suddenly that he knocked over his now empty jam jar.

He practically ran across the flat, desperately searching for slips of paper. Grabbing a pencil, he began to scribble, everything around him fading into oblivion as he wrote.

"Found: one riding crop, black with wrist strap. Found on sidewalk in front of St. Barts. Owner please pick up at 221B Baker Street." John smiled.

He pulled out another slip of paper. "Selling: One human skull, 26 vials (various sizes), assorted laboratory equipment. Inquire at 221B Baker Street."

"Missing: camera phone. Lost at scene of fire by Scotland Yard. If found please return to 221B Baker Street. Locked with four digit code; will destruct after three wrong attempts."

"Selling: one pink case. If interested inquire at 221B Baker Street." And with that, John jogged out the door, psychosomatic limp temporarily forgotten.

He practically sprinted all the way to the various newspaper buildings, hardly stopping to catch his breath at each one before thrusting his ads desperately upon the various writers and editors.

When finished he walked slowly back to the flat, enjoying the November weather, though it made his toes and fingertips numb.

If alive, Sherlock was bound to see one of his ads, and to know that John believed that he was alive.

It amazed John that he hadn't thought of the solution earlier. Guiltily he supposed that he had not possessed enough faith in his companion to bother hoping for a solution. Now though, he felt wonderful.

At last he reached Baker Street, and climbed the steps. He settled down on the couch with an old, dusty volume of Sherlock's and prepared to await a response.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! We've got a few guest stars in his chapter, so see if you recognise any of them. ;) Please continue to leave comments and ratings!**

The next few days passed agonizingly slowly.

John jumped at every sound of a bell, leapt up at every footstep on the stair. Three times Mrs. Hudson entered the flat on the first day, shocked to find it as organized as it had ever been.

John had finally managed to make himself put away all of Sherlock's things. Except the skull and his scarf. Those stayed put. He had cleaned the table, scrubbed the floors, and trimmed his mustache.

Yes. His mustache. He hated it. It hung on his upper lip like one of Sherlock's pickled specimens. But, his therapist had told him that he needed to make changes.

"John, you haven't seen me in a while. You were doing great! You were enjoying life. And now, you're held back. John, you aren't attached to Sherlock in any way. I know that he's... dead. But you need to keep living. Make some changes. Establish yourself. Stop wearing..." she had regarded his sweater then, grey with multiple cats and kittens rolling around it. "You know what? Never mind the jumpers. Buy some new socks! Or grow a mustache!"

"Sorry, but what's wrong with my socks?"

"Nothing! It... Ugh! It was an example!" She had proceeded to shake her head and tell him to make changes. Any changes.

Now he sat in his chair by the door, restraining himself at any ring and responding as calmly and naturally as possible.

The first day passed with no luck. Only Lestrade dropping by to remind him of Molly's party and Mrs. Hudson with the mail and some lunch.

John didn't allow his hopes to ebb, though. That night he fell into an exhausted sleep, absent of dreams.

The next day was a bit faster, but still no luck. By the end of the week, he had received multiple callers for each of his ads, except the camera phone and the riding crop, for neither were really lost or found.

The callers he received though, inquiring about the sale items were all strange characters. For the laboratory equipment he met a professor from a college he had never heard of, a man dressed quite strangely in a pinstriped suit and converse.

He entered the flat with a jolly "Hello!" and a "John Smith. How do you do?"

The second was a short, surprisingly ordinary man dressed in simple, dull clothes.

John noticed various strange things for all of them. The professor, he remembered, had the strangest manner about him. He looked so young, and yet, he seemed very wise. He used multiple confusing terms to inquire about the equipment that Sherlock had so loved to experiment with.

And the second man, quite contrary to the first, was so ordinary that it quite frightened John. The man seemed almost _too_ ordinary.

The last man had kept his eyes downcast, as if ashamed. He had hardly spoken, and when he did it was choppy and overlayed with a thick accent, maybe German. He had left quite eagerly when John told him that, unfortunately he had sold the stuff. He told the same to everyone else.

As for the case, 4 women showed, and one man saying he wished it for his wife.

The women all seemed fairly normal. Two gingers, a blond, and one with particularly frizzy hair. They all seemed fairly well to do, and varied in amounts of kindness, sass, and pride.

The man had been fairly dressed and had hard grey eyes, the colour of steel. John would have suspected him a military man, for he carried himself boldly. He sported brown hair combed carelessly towards the front and a long dark coloured coat.

It did puzzle John though as to why one so rich would search for a grip for his wife secondhand. John didn't ask though, and told the man that he was sorry, for the case had been sold to a lady previously that week. They had shared a kettle of tea and then the man had left.

Even now, when John thought about it, he found so few oddities that he could hardly trace any of the people he had met back to Sherlock.

In fact, they all seemed to have strong personal reasons for inquiring. Only one, a redhead with an excessive amount of sass, had seemed a bit at a loss for reasons why she was inquiring.

When the next week began, Sherlock had still not showed. John was growing weary of his game, and once again sank into depression.

Two weeks later on the 21st John

finally pulled himself out of the flat to fetch a gift for Molly.

After window-shopping for three hours, John finally settled for getting her a lovely bow for her hair and a matching scarf.

Sweet Molly... she had always followed Sherlock like a puppy. In the weeks after his "incident" she had disappeared. Everyone had considered her grief-stricken and sick at home. Now John hoped her party would cheer her heart.

At last he returned home to his flat. Two days later John followed the group of people heading into Molly's flat.

Lestrade was at the door greeting people. When he saw John he grasped his hand and gave him a warm smile.

"It's been a while, Doctor. Glad you came. Molly will be glad to see you."

John had never talked to Molly much, but when he saw her they shook hands and he wished her a happy birthday. She smiled and thanked him. She must have seen the grief in his eyes though, because as he turned she called his name.

"John?" As he turned she seemed to bite something back, as if surprised that it had wanted to come out in the first place. "Um, it'll be alright John. Don't stop moving forward." And she gave him a nervous smile and turned away, leaving him puzzled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, special guest, The Man In Molly's Room! Any idea who he is? I have no idea where this is leading, I've only got an outline... Please message me with ideas and thoughts! BTW, almost there Whovians!**

As the party progressed John tried to stay focused. However hard he tried though, he always seemed to pull away from the festivities and end up wandering aimlessly around the flat.

Though understated, the rooms spoke clearly of her. The colours were pale and friendly, and small vases of fall flowers were placed carefully around. The tea kettle sat elegantly on the stove, and the polished cupboards gleamed cheerfully.

John continued to wander aimlessly, striding down hallways and exploring bedrooms. He was sure Molly wouldn't mind as long as he didn't go in hers.

As he wandered down the hall, one door caught his eye. It was closed and appeared to be locked, but the light was on inside.

He was sure that it wasn't Molly's bedroom, that had been the first down the hall. Curious, he tried the handle, looking behind him every few seconds.

The party continued in the main room, loud and joyous. The door was locked... from the inside.

He tried again. Maybe it was just stuck. No, it was truly locked. He pressed his ear to the door, but any sounds from within had stopped when he tried the handle.

Checking behind him one last time, he flattened himself on his stomach and peered under the door. He could hardly see anything.

He was about to get up, when a shadow crossed the floor. He blinked and did a double take, but there was nothing there.

"Molly," he called, pulling a cufflink off the dress shirt he had worn for the occasion.

He cupped it in his hand and bent over, feeling around. Molly came up behind him.

"I'm sorry to pull you away, Molly, but I was on my way to the restroom and I seem to have dropped my cufflink. I think it may have gone under the door."

Molly's face blanked for a moment, and then she smiled. "It's alright. Um, well I'll go look through the other door. There's a repairman in there. I'd prefer you didn't have to see that room like it is. I'll be right back."

She walked into the room next to the locked one. Seeing that he wouldn't get the chance to enter the room, John quickly flicked the cufflink under the door, hoping nobody within would see.

He pressed his ear to the door. From within the room he heard a door open. He figured the rooms were all connected, starting with these two.

Within he heard voices, but they were so quiet that he couldn't hear a thing. A shadow passed under the door and stooped. Molly must have found his cufflink.

He leaned back against the wall to wait for her. When she returned, she seemed excessively happy. She handed him the cufflink.

"Here you are, John. One missing cufflink."

John returned her smile. "Thanks, Molly. I think I'm going to go now, I believe I may be sick. Happy birthday, anyway."

She patted his shoulder. "Thank you John. I hope you feel better."


	6. Chapter 6

**Plot twist! Well, not really since I mentioned it in the summary...**

That night John lay awake in bed. He couldn't sleep. How could he? There was so much to think about. So much...

When he had seen that locked door every one of his military instincts screamed danger. He didn't know if it was just the mystery that called out to him, or if it was how strange Molly's story seemed.

He didn't doubt her innocence, only the amount of wise decision that went into having a "repair man" in the house.

Who was this man? John wondered for the thousandth time that day if he meant her harm. Finally, he stood up.

The shock of losing Sherlock and his experiences at Molly's party had made up his mind. He was never going to solve all his problems, answer all his questions. It wasn't humanly possible. The only way to do that would be to find Sherlock. And John had lost hope. How many times had he advertised for Sherlock? Asked around the homeless network? Looked everywhere? Talked to Angelo? How many times had the officials at Scotland Yard thrown him looks of pity, of sarcasm because he still believed?

John began to truly believe that his friend was dead. And he wanted so badly to talk to him.

He wasn't sure that he could continue living with all of his questions. And, he supposed, the only way to answer them was to follow Sherlock.

John leapt out of bed and strode to his laptop. He opened a blank document and began to type.

He began with the date: November 23. Then, he wrote everything that he had to say.

"Sherlock gave a note before he left. His was a phone call, mine is a letter. It was a true pleasure knowing each of you. Molly, never stop believing in everything good. You have always been so kind to me. Your quiet strength gave me faith. However, I have stopped believing. My questions will never be answered, and I can't live with the uncertainty. And Molly, please be careful. I don't know who is in that room, bur I hope you are sure that you're safe. Lestrade, you are an excellent DI. Sherlock and I owe you so much. To my dear Mrs. Hudson. Thank you so much for everything. Sherlock always considered you to be like his family. I hope that I have shown you the same consideration. Forgive me all the times that I doubted your strength. It would not sit well with Sherlock to leave you uncared for, so I leave you all that I have. I trust DI Lestrade to take care of all the details. And Anderson, shut up. Personally, I hope the broken nose you received stays crooked. Finally, I wish the best to all of you at Scotland Yard, and all of my faithful followers and believers. (Except you, Anderson. And Donovan.) Goodbye."

John saved the file and placed a lock on it. He then opened another blank page. He once again typed the date.

Slowly, he pressed the first key. Then the second.

"Sherlock Holmes. You have been called many things, 'fake', 'freak', 'psychopath'. You even called yourself a 'sociopath'. But you are none of those things. I doubt that you have ever been called a friend. But you are one. And you told me once that even if heroes did exist, you wouldn't be one of them. But that isn't true. I know, you've probably deduced it a million times, but you saved my life on countless occasions. It was always you who stopped the bullet, the knife, the rope. But you aren't here anymore. And you can't stop the fall. My fall. Thank you for all of the adventures. And I thought Afghanistan was exciting. It was a pleasure and a story well worth telling. If you do happen to be alive, please forgive me for doubting your survival. And please, take care of Molly. She truly values your opinion and enjoys your companionship. And by the way, I never was your date. Keep your trousers on, John Hamish Watson"

John saved and locked this file, also. A tear trickled down his face. Moving the mouse to the bottom of the screen, John clicked on the minimized internet tab.

The screen that popped up was the same chat room that he had viewed over two weeks ago. He clicked at the "previous page" button. One click, two clicks.

He pounded at the mouse, waiting impatiently while the previous page loaded. Luckily when he had first opened the tab he began at his blog, so his clicks sent him no further back than that.

When the blog had at last loaded, he clicked on the message bar. He opened the one containing the link and read it once more.

T. W. He felt like he should know this person... Either way, they had given him hope, even if it only lasted for a second. This T. W. should be the first to know.

If he told anyone else, any of his friends, Scotland Yard would surely find out. He copied the e-mail address and began to type.

"T. W., I have no idea who you are, where you are, if I've met you before, nothing. But I know that for a time, your message gave me much hope. As a soldier I am not one to share my feelings, nor my thoughts. But now I suppose I must do so. Tonight I shall fall. Sherlock fell, and the only way to get to him is to follow. I have so many questions... In two hours I shall be deceased. I ask only that you do not share this information with anyone. Thank you for what you gave me. John H. Watson"

John leaned back in his chair. As a soldier, anything regarding feelings that wasn't expressed as cold resolve and quiet pride was very taxing on his mind. What was wrong with him? He wouldn't typically share his feelings like that, and if not with his friends first, then definitely not with a stranger! Even now as he recalled his words they tasted dull and fake on his tongue. So much for emotion.

Now that everything was set, a fear began to creep into John. It crawled up his spine and sunk its teeth into his mind. It chilled his heart and stoppered his breath. He breathed slowly, deliberately. He was a soldier. A doctor. How many times had he seen death? He hadn't feared for his life when he was shot. He had been neutral. He had not cared. Had not caring been a mistake? Was he unprepared now?

No, he was prepared. Before Sherlock, he wouldn't have minded death, maybe even welcomed it. He had nothing to live for, no reason to keep going. What was the difference now?

He had lost friends to the war, stood over their beaten bodies, pressing bloodied towels to gaping wounds and talking to them, fighting back tears as he watched his friends slip beyond his grasp.

He had ended up alone, without a flatmate, a friend, or a place in the world. And now, years later, he had ended up the same way.

And now, John didn't fear death. It was an adventure. And hopefully there he would meet his brilliant companion. And his soldiers. His faithful, brave, soldiers.

He looked forward to it with bitter sweet resolve. The fear subsided, for the most part. A small piece though, coiled in the pit of his stomach like a great serpent, rearing its head every once in a while.

The sudden flashes sent flutters of chills up John's spine. John checked the time. A little after 3 o'clock. He leaned forward and sent the e-mail before he could question himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope at least a few of you are freaking out, otherwise I haven't done a very good job... :)**

That gave him two hours. John locked himself into his bedroom and began to prepare.

He put on his best pair of trousers, and his best button-up shirt. He pulled a nice jacket over that, and ran a comb through his hair.

He then exited his room and stopped at his laptop. He opened and unlocked both files, then printed them out. He folded them neatly and placed them in envelopes.

One he left blank, while the other he paused, and then wrote "Sherlock". He put both inside his jacket, and then grabbed a slice of bread.

Checking the time he saw that it was only 3:45. He began to pick up the flat a little, not wanting to leave too much to Mrs. Hudson.

At 4:23 he strode down stairs. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson was down there. He took her gently by the shoulders and folded her into a hug.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you so much."

She smiled up at him. "For what, dear?" she asked.

"Everything." And he strode out the door.

John took a cab to St. Barts. The only think that kept him from turning back were the locked doors of the cab. At last he reached the hospital.

He still had thirty minutes to kill, so he paid the driver, being quite generous in his tip. He strode around the back of the hospital.

Everywhere he looked papers were plastered to the walls with Sherlock's face on them. The walls were tagged with phrases such as "I believe in Sherlock" and "He's not dead." John was both proud and ashamed of his followers. Indeed, they had more hope than him on days like today.

John at last located the fire escape and took to the stairs barely realizing his cane was still lying on his bed inside 221B.

He climbed for twenty minutes before reaching the roof. John surveyed the scene before him.

The roof had been thouroughly cleaned, and he had actually had to jump a gate at the top of the stairs.

The hospital had stopped taking chances. No more suicides. They had promised. But, thought John bitterly, most promises weren't kept.

He stepped forward cautiously, overcome by waves of emotion. He kept walking until he came to about the center of the roof.

He shuddered at the dark stain on the cement. How long had Jim lain there before his body was removed?

John gave it a wide berth and stepped to the edge of the roof. The view was beautiful, and somewhere within him, beneath the pain and the fear, John felt that he could fly.

He looked over the edge, at the beautiful city. Sherlock's beautiful city. John often had to remind himself just how many acquaintances the man had known.

How many people were indebted to him. Would do anything to help him. John also knew how many enemies he had made.

Was this how Sherlock had felt? Looking at the city, wanting to fly? After all, falling and flying were very similar to each other.

So lost in thought was John, that he didn't hear the gate at the top of the stairs open and swing shut again.

John checked the time. 4:56. It was time. "Goodbye, Sherlock," he whispered, and spread his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter... Jonathan Walters makes a special appearance! You're welcome, guys. ;D**

John leaned forward, his heart in his throat. A few people below him had begun to look up, pointing and yelling.

Others had phones to their ears, dialing police, officials, anyone who would come. Even more men were running towards the stairs.

John's foot lifted off the ground, dangling just over the edge. A thrill went through him, bitter and cold, and yet, invigorating.

Suddenly he gave a sharp cry. Stong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him down from the ledge.

"Not today, Doctor." A hand covered his mouth, a vial tipped up, and John saw no more.

The old janitor lifted John's limp body with a surprising ease. He set him upright and met the group of men who had taken to the stairs.

"Poor bloke passed out as soon as I grabbed him. Not sure, but he may have drugged himself before trying to jump. He didn't look too with it when I grabbed him down."

One of the men clapped the janitor on the shoulder. "Good job, mate. I believe you just saved a life."

The men lifted John easily and carried him off down the stairs. One man stayed behind with the elderly janitor until the men had gotten some ways down the stairs.

The two then walked down the stairs together. "That was a brave thing you did, pulling him down. I'm an officer, so I've seen that a lot. Rattles even my nerves."

The janitor smiled at the gentleman. "Ha. I suppose so. It's just one of those things though, the urge to help. I happened to be coming up here to do my daily clean up, checking for trash, you know. I must have been a few minutes behind him because I didn't even see him on the stairs. When I got up he was on the ledge. I ran to him and pulled him down. I had a young nephew once, tried to do the same thing off the roof of his house. I found him before he jumped, though. I suppose we all have that protective nature in us. Even for strangers."

The officer smiled. "I suppose so." They had reached the bottom steps by then, and shook hands.

The officer began to walk away, then turned. "That man, he's going to be hospitalized here, I believe. Maybe he'd appreciate a visitor? I can get you a pass, seeing as you saved him."

The janitor nodded. "I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Come on inside the building."

As they walked through the front door the officer shuddered. "Gives me chills, walking here. And after that... Reminds me of those other suicides we had here, maybe a little under three years ago. The great Sherlock Holmes. And the actor he hired to make himself famous. Ha. No wonder they both killed themselves. Bodies were a mess, though."

The old janitor tried his best not to look repelled, but he did a bad job. The officer led him to the desk and requested a pass. They both showed ID and the janitor was given his visitor pass.

"Visit him anytime you like between 8 and 6. Good job sir. You've done us a great service."

The officer patted the janitor's back and walked off. Once he was gone, the janitor leaned over the desk.

"Martha," he said to the receptionist. "I'd like to resign. That's rattled my nerves a little too much. Here's my badge. I'll go change."

"Alright, Jonathan. I don't blame you. And here's the paper work. Good job saving that man's life."

Jonathan smiled and took the clipboard. "Be right back, Martha."

Twenty minutes later, he walked by the front desk, his uniform under his arm. Now he wore nice trousers and a purple shirt. In the absence of a mop or broom, he leaned slightly on a cane.

He handed over his uniform and, for a second, his wrinkles disappeared and his back straightened. Pale eyes sparkling he whispered, "Thank you, Miss Adler."

Martha smiled at him and responded cooly, "Likewise, Mister Holmes." And Jonathan Walters walked out the front door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Alright, so I let John live, and at last our good friend the Doctor arrives! I still need ideas, guys! Anyone with creative ideas for Sherlock to come back can send me a message. (You will be credited!)**

"'Data! Data! Data!' he cried impatiently. 'I can't make bricks without clay.' And yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation."

When John came to the first words he heard were soft spoken and confident. His vision was blurry and his limbs weak, but the voice that he heard was clear and beautiful.

As soon as he opened his eyes though, it paused.

"You're awake."

He groaned. "Dually noted."

The voice laughed, a beautiful, joyous sound. John's vision at last began to clear, and he could see the woman sitting at the side of his bed.

He immediately noticed three things about her. One, she was absolutely beautiful. Two, she was not in nursing uniform, so she was visiting. But he had never seen her before. And three, she had been reading a book.

It was very old by the look of it, bound in leather. It was also handwritten, suggesting that it was likely a journal or a story of her own.

"That was an interesting story you were reading. Well, what I heard of it was."

She smiled at him. "Thank you. A work of my distant relative. He passed it on through a friend of his, who gave me this original copy."

"I see. And I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

The woman laughed again, causing John to smile involuntarily.

"Oh, no. I was just here to visit my uncle. Relative of this one actually," she said holding up the notebook. "He was hospitalized for a heart attack. Doyle, is his name. Arthur James Doyle. Distant relative of Sir Arthur Conan... Oh, never mind. I forget... You don't learn about it until..." she trailed off, muttering to herself.

John stared at her. "And you're here... Why?"

"I was here to visit him, and heard that a man on the same floor as I hadn't had any visitors. I thought to myself that I might go and ease the loneliness. I am often lonely myself."

"Well thank you. I'm John, by the way. Doctor John Watson."

"Mary Morstan. And a pleasure, Doctor." She shook his hand and then glanced at her phone. "I have a little time left. Do you mind if I stay?"

John smiled at her. "Of course not. "

"Thanks. Oh! And here's the doctor. John would you prefer I leave?" She sat down, then rose immediately as a man walked in. He was tall, with wild brown hair.

John shook his head at Mary. "Go ahead and stay." Mary sat back down.

"Visiting our dear Doctor, are we Miss Morstan?" The doctor smiled. Shaking John's hand, he introduced himself. "I'm Doctor Smith. John Smith. I believe we met, some weeks ago, when I inquired at your flat about some lab equipment and a skull."

John gaped. The man looked so different in professional uniform, so much older. John supposed converse did make you look younger.

So, I heard you had quite an ordeal a few days ago. Attempted suicide, as I've heard."

John did a double take. "A few days ago? But it could only have been... The date? What's the date?"

He cried out, now in a panic. He remembered almost nothing, just... He was about to fall. To fly. Then, arms. And a hand. Liquid! Then everything had disappeared.

Here Mary interjected. "John, it's the 26th. You've slept almost three days. Am I correct, Doctor?"

"Indeed it would seem so, Mary. John, do you remember what happened?" Doctor Smith spoke slowly, as if to a mental patient.

"Yes, I do, Doctor. And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from talking to me as you would to one lacking mental health, as I should put it. I am a retired army medic and don't appreciate that type of talk. I know my decisions were rash, but I believe that sometimes it is the wiser path to die and receive all the answers, than to live a life of questions, never knowing who to trust. I am completely sane, Doctor, if only a little shaken. Now please continue. I doubt that any information you acquire will point towards my insanity."

The small room hushed after John's tirade, and it took a moment for both Mary and the Doctor to recover. The Doctor began again at last, his voice laced with what John could only describe as... Awe? Pride? Neither of the two made sense.

Doctor Smith continued with a kind smile. "Right. I'm sorry, John. I had been told that you were a strong man by Sh-... by someone." A strange look came over Doctor Smith's face. "I know exactly how you feel. Better to die than to live without answers..." Doctor Smith recomposed himself.

"You mind if I ask some questions? I got some information from the man that stopped you, and the officers, but not much."

"Not at all."

"All right, then. John, you were the only one involved in this suicide attempt? No one helping you?"

"Yes. Also, no one knew of it but one person online, who found out two hours before when I sent them a message. I've no idea who they were, but I felt the need to tell them. Did anyone receive notice before I stood on the ledge?"

"No. Well, not any officers, policemen, doctors, or anyone like that. Um, John, many people drug themselves up before they attempt anything. Did you take any medications or drugs before you went upstairs?"

John shook his head. "No. Do you know why I went up there, Doctor? It was Sherlock. All Sherlock. I needed answers. I couldn't live without them. Sherlock didn't drug himself. Neither could I."

Mary gasped suddenly. She looked as if she was going to hit Doctor Smith on the arm.

"Doctor! You didn't tell me that-"

"Quiet, Mary. I'm sorry John." Doctor Smith toyed with something in his pocket. "I believe Mary knew him at one point, yes?"

Mary pursed her lips and glared at Doctor Smith. "That's right. He was an old friend. I wasn't aware that he was a part of this."

John glanced between Mary and Doctor Smith. It seemed like something had clicked in Mary's mind, and Doctor Smith seemed to know exactly what it was. John felt confused and tired.

What were they not telling him? So many secrets... The man in Molly's house, the death of his best friend, how he had suddenly been saved from his jump, and now this new development.

Doctor Smith turned to John. "Alright, John. Well, I think that's enough questions. I believe I understand your motives, and believe me. I am sorry. I am so sorry."

Doctor Smith nodded at John and stood. "Miss Morstan, if you would come with me, I think John could use a rest."

**BTW, for anyone who hasn't read the amazing works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the first quote is from The Adventure Of The Copper Beeches. I strongly recomend the Sherlock Holmes stories, they are FANTASTIC!**


	10. Chapter 10

**C'mon guys! Ideas! Anyone? Alright, stick with me, next chapter I'm going to explain a lot.**

Doctor Smith grabbed Mary's shoulder as soon as they left John's room.

"Come on, Mary. We need to talk, but not here."

He led her to the back of the hospital and, looking both ways, pressed an ear to the door.

"No one out there. C'mon, Mary." He pulled a device out of his pocket and aimed it at the door handle. It emitted a high whirring noise, and Mary smiled.

"Still love to Sonic everything in sight, don't you Doctor?"

The Doctor turned around and grinned at her. "Definitely." He shoved open the door and stepped into the brisk November air.

"I've parked her this way." The Doctor gestured towards the right side of the alley. "Run with me."

Mary and the Doctor set off at a brisk jog down the dirty backstreet. The two made an odd pair, one in scrubs and the other in casual day clothes jogging down an empty alley.

At last they reached the TARDIS, her doors opening easily for the Doctor. Once inside, the Doctor turned to Mary.

"Mary, I'm so sorry that I didn't say anything. I know, you're desperate to see him again. And now you know. He's involved. He's a huge part of this whole thing!" The Doctor gestured in a wide circle. "For once, someone is interfering more than I am! For a man with no friends, he's awfully protective of Doctor Watson. Yes, I know." The Doctor raised a hand to silence Mary before she even opened her mouth. "I know. You're desperate to meet him. The great detective and all that. And his companion. Your future husband! What did you think?!"

"Well first off, Spaceman, I want you to explain everything to me. Who is who, what point in time are we currently experiencing, why you're helping Sherlock, and yes, I know he's alive, and for goodness sake, when will John lose the mustache?"

The Doctor chuckled warmly. He pulled Mary close. You always cheered me up, Mary. And don't worry, he loses the mustache soon, after the wedding. And if you're lucky, maybe even just before. And yes, I suppose I owe you an explanation. I'm sorry to have left you out. You must remember that you only just got here."

The Doctor grabbed Mary's hand and led her deeper into the TARDIS. This explanation was going to take a while.


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Christmas everyone! So in this excessively long chapter I explain A LOT. I hope my few readers enjoy it! Please leave comments and message me with thoughts and ideas! I'm sorry if I didn't explain a few things, PLEASE COMMENT AND I CAN FIX IT! Also, I've included some book references, so if you don't understand post a comment and I will explain. Once again, happy Christmas, and God bless!**

"Alright Mary. First off, we start with you. I didn't know you until recently. Remember that. Now, I knew the other you, the parallel you. In the parallel universe, existing right along this one, I'm married to Rose and am a human. I age like you and can't regenerate. In that universe, you are the daughter of Rose and I. Now for some reason, when I first saw you in the street outside your flat about 4 months ago, something clicked between you and me.

"It's like you could sense the relationship between us that lived in the parallel universe. I'd go into detail, but..."

"Timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly." Mary finished for him.

"Exactly! So basically, we got along swell, and you know the rest. Now earlier, say... I dunno... Almost four years ago, I met Sherlock for the first time. No interrupting!" The Doctor tapped Mary on the head and grinned. She only closed her half-open mouth and rolled her eyes.

"As I was saying, four years ago I met Sherlock. As it turned out, I saw him in the street and stopped him to sign my book. Of course he was stunned, then proceeded to read me like a book and prove that I really am older than I look and an alien.

"He was initially taken aback, to put it nicely, and I offered to show him the TARDIS. Scientific stuff, you know. It greatly interested him, though I must mention that it quite upset him, the number of scientific laws that I had broken. Apparently you humans have strict scientific laws that forbid objects that are bigger on the inside...

"But either way, we became acquaintances. I showed him the book, which, as you know, was written in another parallel universe and labeled fiction. We had a brilliant conversation... Ironic, isn't it that I earned two of the book's character's trust by showing them their parallel timelines?" The Doctor trailed off.

"But anyway, we talked for a while, then he returned to his flat. I of course, had just arrived in London. I was tracking an old enemy of mine, who I fear has been terrorizing this good city.

"I needed a place to stay, and I had no idea who to trust. I believe I told you, but most of my companions are scattered. I have a few left here, but I couldn't put them in danger by staying with them. I could interact indirectly with them, but they never knew it was me. After Sherlock went into hiding I paid a few of them to try and purchase his equipment from John. However, he wouldn't sell. I even went myself. I pretty much hired everyone who inquired. Even went myself once. But that's off topic.

"As you also know, I'm a huge fan of the Sherlock Holmes series. I wandered around London, visited Baker Street, the morgue, and Scotland Yard.

"When I went to look at Scotland Yard, however, I met a girl who was leaving the building. Apparently I looked a little strange to her, because she came over to me.

"'Aren't you a little cold? You aren't even wearing gloves!' she smiled at me and held out a hand. 'Molly Hooper.' she said. 'Are you trying to see DI Lestrade?'

"When I had talked to Sherlock earlier he had mentioned Molly. Said he worked with her sometimes. However he failed to mention how sweet she was.

"When she asked I shook my head. 'Actually, I'm in town to visit the great Sherlock Holmes. However, I need a place to stay. Have any suggestions?'

"'Well,' she told me, 'I actually work with Sherlock at the morgue. I have a spare room at my flat. If you'd like to stay in that room I can make sure Sherlock knows where he can find you easily.'" The Doctor chuckled.

"When she said this I must admit that she was a little red in the face. But I said yes and we hailed a cab. We got out at her flat, a pretty little building not far from Baker Street. We went upstairs and she showed me a room on the left side of the hallway. The rooms all connected, but she told me that the doors had locks on both sides and I was welcome to lock the side doors if I wished.

"Her flat was nice, but the connecting rooms caught my eye as a little strange. I figured that the landlord, or lady, had them put in after the flat was built.

"Well I sat down on the bed, and that was when I realized that I didn't have any things of my own. I told Molly I was going to pick up my bags from where Sherlock was holding them for me and slipped out. She didn't mind, of course. Fantastic woman, Molly. Really sweet.

"Well of course Sherlock had no such bags, so I walked to the TARDIS and looked for some. It took a while, but I found what I needed.

"I suppose you wouldn't know, but when I regenerate I tend to lean towards a particular fashion. This time it's this brilliant coat and a suit. I travelled to this fantastic planet once, truly fantastic, really, and they have a wonderful seamstress there, absolutely wonderful, who made me a few more suits just like my old one, so I don't have to purchase similar one's elsewhere. It's also why I look like I never change.

"So I got my stuff, my clothes, my screwdriver, all that good stuff. I don't have a companion right now, so I was alone.

"I left the TARDIS and went back to Molly's flat, where I've been staying ever since. I stayed there for about three months under the excuse that I was doing some work with Sherlock, who I visited occasionally to lend some Time Lord science to his studies. I always avoided John, though. Sherlock wasn't sure how he would react to an alien... Probably shoot me in the face.

"For three months I stayed at Molly's, tracking this old friend of mine who I told you about. I couldn't believe that this man was alive, but I had signals that he was in London again and I had seen his work before.

"It took me these three months, and multiple visits with Sherlock to find out that we happened to be after the same thing.

"Before I came along and saw Sherlock in the street, he had been tracking a great criminal mind whom he said was his worst enemy. Apparently the man, Moriarty, was behind a series of serious crimes, and had promised to get Sherlock in the end.

"Well one day, I was at Sherlock's flat while John was out for milk. Sherlock told me that he was close to catching the criminal Moriarty. He needed help however, and I obviously volunteered my brilliant mind and spectacular hair with both my hearts.

"He accepted the offer. He showed me recent papers, where this man, Moriarty, labeled Sherlock as a fake and named himself Richard Brook. Richard said Sherlock hired him as an actor to make Sherlock look brilliant and heroic."

Mary paused the Doctor. "Wait, wait, wait! And don't say I can't interrupt, I can do whatever I want. You haven't told me who you though Richard or Moriarty or whatever was."

The Doctor paused, twisting his sonic screwdriver in his hands. "Oh. I suppose that's a bit important. To be honest, I thought that he was the Master. Harold Saxon. Returned from the dead for just about the billionth time. He just refuses to die, that man."

"The prime minister from forever ago?"

"That's him. He's basically an evil Time Lord who wants me dead with every ounce of his hearts. He's tried to kill me repeatedly, too, and I guess I probably frustrate him as much as he frustrates me."

Mary just nodded. "I believe I'm beginning to understand a little."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "Yes. So Sherlock told me about what had been going on. Missing children, threats, 'come and play', you know. 'Man with the key is king.' All that stuff."

"No, I don't understand. Come and play? The king has the key? Don't pull that 'oh we both know what's going on face!'"

"Oh. Sorry, I forget. Now shut up and I'll explain that later.

"So Sherlock needed to catch the criminal, and I needed to stop the Master before he destroys earth. I've absolutely no idea how he came back, because I was so sure he had died...

"Sherlock had a plan, though. That man is brilliant! I love humans. So anyway, he planned to meet Moriarty at the top of St. Bart's, fake his death by jumping, and then when Moriarty began to slack off, bag him up. It was a fantastic plan. Unfortunately, it was going to require John to see Sherlock fall and believe his death for maybe, eh, a year. Then Sherlock could safely return, hello, hugs, and joy all around. The worst criminal in all of time and space destroyed by a consulting detective and a Time Lord.

"Sherlock needed Molly's help, but she didn't know what I was. We went to her together, and I told her. She was shocked, to say the least. All of the colour drained from her face. For a moment I worried that she might pass out, but she pulled herself up. She said that if Sherlock believed me, she could. He was the most realistic, scientific man alive, and not one for pranks.

"I was thrilled. I led them both outside, then down a few blocks. I had parked the TARDIS less than a hundred metres away for safekeeping in an empty alley. She was of course invisible, and it was quite a shock to Molly when she appeared out of thin air, but Sherlock only made some brilliant observations about her invisibility features. According to him it was quite easy scientifically.

"I led them in, warning Molly of its size. She was awed, and I invited them over to the control panel." The Doctor stood up and walked out of the bedroom they'd been sitting in and into the control room. He led Mary to the control panel in the centre of the room.

"C'mon, Mary." The Doctor flipped two switches and pulled a cord. "A small box appeared on one of the screens, circles and lines swirling inside.

The Doctor pointed. "Circular Gallifreyan. My language. It's basically writing in time. It's asking if I want to activate the light beam. Gift from Captain Jack. It basically can catch anything in air and put in in the TARDIS. Still with me?"

Mary nodded slowly. "So, Sherlock jumps, and centimetres from the ground you catch him with this, and then he's in the TARDIS."

"Yeah. Then he jumps out, blood down his face, and the homeless network surrounds him and takes him in the hospital. Brilliant, Mary! You're keeping up wonderfully.

"So we had this plan all set up, and it was going to work out beautifully. The Master would be caught, London's consulting criminal would be off the streets. I'm assuming you read the papers that day?"

Mary nodded. "Yeah. I saw what happened. Sherlock jumps, Jim or Richard, or the Master or, or, whatever his name is, kills himself with a gun."

"Exactly. What the papers didn't say, though, was that Moriarty was real. Sherlock told me the whole story. What actually happened, no. You know what, I'll let him tell it. You've seen him before, no? But you didn't talk. Well he's in a back room by the pool, so I'll be right back."

A moment later the Doctor returned, a tall man trailing him. The man was pale with dark curly hair. His eyes were a pale ice colour, so light that they were almost not coloured at all. He wore a purple dress shirt and nice trousers, a long black overcoat, and a blue scarf.

He walked swiftly to Mary and stuck out a hand. In a deep, almost bored voice he said simply, "Mary, I'm assuming."

Mary took his hand and nodded. "That's me."

"Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure." a small smile stretched over his features, looking quite forced. It was nothing compared to the Doctor's grin.

"Well Mary? I let you read some of his stories. Just like the books?" the Doctor clapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"I believe so, Doctor. But I don't understand. I realize that because the book is from a parallel universe, some things are off, like the time period and smaller details, and some things may have changed slightly, like the culprits' names or motives. Maybe some of the cases were left out, and some of the characters were left out or replaced. But from what you've told me, the main plot is the same. Sherlock fakes his death, Moriarty dies, I marry John, all of that."

"Yes, Mary?"

"It's just that, you don't find it strange that something as big as the Reichenbach fall was changed?"

Here Sherlock interrupted. "Are you suggesting that Moriarty is still alive? That he faked his death, too? Because that's impossible. He shot himself. I was there. Some things are easily faked, like falling off a building. Especially with a brilliant machine such as this. But I was two metres from Moriarty. I saw him die."

"But", said Mary, holding her ground, "the Doctor said he was a Time Lord..."

"It's impossible that he survived! Impossible!" Sherlock was practically shouting now. The Doctor's smile had disappeared, and he stepped forward.

"Fingers on lips!" The Doctor stood between Mary and Sherlock, his finger pressed against his lips. Neither Sherlock nor Mary moved. Then Mary let out a giggle. Sherlock smirked. "Excuse me, Timeman?"

The Doctor reddened, then squinted at them. "Hmm. Worked a little better on the last group. Now, Sherlock I brought you in here to fill Mary in about the backside of your story. The whole Richard Brook, Moriarty, sniper thing."

"Alright then, Doctor. If it truly helps. We'd best sit down."

The trio settled themselves on the grate that covered the TARDIS floor.

"Sure you lot don't want to find a more comfortable place?"

Mary shook her head and Sherlock replied that the floor was fine. The Doctor shrugged and sat down.

"So, you read the papers." Sherlock gestured at Mary. "Your left sleeve is wrinkled at the elbow where you lean it on the table to read. And smudges on your finger where you licked it to turn the page and smeared ink onto your index finger."

Mary didn't seem particularly surprised, after hearing so much about the great detective. "That's right. The stories I read claimed that you were 'a fraud incapable of gaining glory without the help of greater men'."

"Psh. Papers. Papers are dull. They don't see the truth even if it's right in front of them. I suppose I'd better start from the beginning so that you understand.

"You know that Moriarty was put to court for stealing the crown jewels, although he didn't take them? And that he specifically wrote my name on the display?"

Mary nodded. Sherlock continued, "Then I trust that you understand that he was released with no charge. The papers made up a story about how he really was innocent and knew he didn't need to put up a fight to prove it.

"What they didn't realize, was that he is the most dangerous man in all of London. Possibly even the world. He has endless ties and connections to powerful people everywhere. After he was released John called immediately.

"At the flat I put on a kettle and waited for Moriarty to arrive. He showed up on the stairs a bit later, and we sat down to a cuppa. not typical criminal behaviour, I suppose, but Jim is, no, was, no ordinary criminal.

"We talked. He told me of how each hotel room holding a member of the court had a personalized TV screen. Releasing threats was not that difficult.

"We finished our conversation, and he stated quite plainly that 'he owed me a fall.'

"Shortly after that, a lovely little episode ensued. I ended up arrested due to a whole deal at Scotland Yard about the kidnapped child, I'm sure you've heard of it in the paper, screaming at the sight of me.

"I was to be taken in for questioning, as if I had stolen the children! Ha." Sherlock rose and started to pace in an agitated manner.

"John punched the chief of police, I took a gun, and we ran away. We became fugitives. We eventually learned that 221B was being watched by assassins. Moriarty had told them that the key that helped him steal the crown jewels, release the prisoners, unlock the bank vault, and all of his other despicable actions was located at my flat. He had left nothing at my flat but an apple, and had touched nothing but his tea.

"All of things led to the fall. John received a text that Mrs. Hudson had been shot, and left immediately. I went to the top of Saint Bart's to meet Moriarty. He was sitting up there, blasting a song on his phone.

"As soon as I arrived, he stood up. 'Staying alive. Isn't staying alive boring?' He said something stupid like that. He tried to make me jump. Told me to end it, he had won. There wasn't even a key. He had made it up. As I've said, he has connections. They happened to be more than willing to help him.

"He told me I was 'ordinary. On the side of the angels.' I replied that I may be on the side of the angels, but I'm not one of them. We were the same. He agreed.

"He knew that he had the upper hand. I was stalling, waiting for the Doctor to arrive. I stood on the ledge once, looking down for him. As soon as I saw him I stepped down.

"In the end I asked him what happened if I didn't jump. What the papers didn't mention is that he had gunmen on John, LeStrade, and Mrs. Hudson. John told me once that friends protect people. It was all I could do." Sherlock trailed off.

Mary had a hand over her mouth, and the Doctor grimaced. "Moriarty wasn't supposed to kill himself. So, I suppose the Master is dead, and Moriarty is off the streets. It worked out either way, but we lost information that only he had."

As Sherlock finished his narrative, Mary removed her hand from her mouth.

"So you're in hiding still, though? It's been years since John's seen you! He's breaking up!" Mary was standing now, too, practically shouting. "Go to him!" she thrust a finger towards the TARDIS's door.

"I can't do that." Sherlock's voice was so quiet that Mary had to lean forward to hear him. "And why not?" she was shaking now, her whole body racked with grief for the man she was to love. "John needs you."

The Doctor stepped forward and took Mary by the shoulders. Pulling her towards him, he said calmly, "You never finished the books. Moriarty had an accomplice. Sebastian. He's still out there. If Sherlock goes out, he puts both himself and John in danger." Tears streamed down Mary's face now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know. I guess I already love him. Reading his own story to him in the hospital... I guess something just... clicked."

The Doctor laughed and Sherlock curled his lip. "As I've said before, love is a weakness, and caring is not an advantage."

The Doctor hugged Mary tighter. "I think it's wonderful, Mary. Absolutely brilliant! I love happy endings."

Mary looked up at him, uncertainty etched on her reddened face. "I still don't quite understand, though. So Sherlock, you still need to hide? How long before you can come out? And why has Sebastian not shown himself? Is he even a threat, now that Moriarty is gone?"

Sherlock smiled for the first time since the start of his story. "Not long, Mary. Not long. Sebastian is hardly a threat with his commander dead. With a little 'indirect' help, Scotland Yard should catch him soon."

Now that all of them were standing, Mary shook Sherlock's hand again. "It's been a pleasure."

"It has."

"Sherlock? Do you know that John... That John..."

"Tried to commit suicide? I do."

Mary looked slightly worried. Sherlock looked down at her. "Did you hear that he was saved by a man named Jonathan Walters, a custodian who resigned from his duties shortly after saving John?"

Mary nodded. Sherlock continued, "Jonathan doesn't exist. That was me. I've been monitoring all of John's electronic devices and communications. When he sent his note to this T.W., I saw it. I stopped him just in time and drugged him with a simple sleeping draught."

Mary relaxed a bit, but the tension didn't leave her shoulders.

"Just one more question. Why are so many of the things that happened here different from in the book? I mean, yeah a few things are changed, little details and such. But I read A Scandal In Bohemia. I also read John's blog. There were some major differences."

"Ah! You are definitely my daughter! Just like Rose. Always questioning everything. I love humans! Don't forget that not everything was included in the story. Just like real-life John, fictional John didn't know all the parts to the story. Is that all that you were wondering?"

Mary at last fully relaxed. "Yes. Thank you Doctor. And Sherlock." she waved as Sherlock disappeared into one of the TARDIS's multiple hallways.

The Doctor patted Mary on the shoulder. "Let's go and see your future husband again. We don't actually know who this mysterious T.W. is. It might be very important... He trailed off as they pulled open the TARDIS door.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello again, faithful readers! And happy Christmas once again. Unfortunately, the following chapter contains the start of a HUGE plot twist... Please, please don't be too mad! I'm sure everything should turn out alright in the end... I hope. That is, if my inner Moffat doesn't take over... Hope you enjoy it and please, leave comments! (Your comments may affect who lives and who dies... so speak now or forever hold your peace!)**

As soon as they got out of the TARDIS, the Doctor turned around. He aimed his sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS and she disappeared.

"Gotta keep her invisible. Safety first!" Mary laughed.

"Come on, Doctor 'Smith'. Nice scrubs, by the way. Do you think you might be able to get John out of the hospital?"

"I believe so. But we're going to need to keep a closer watch on him."

Mary gave a little leap of eagerness, and the Doctor touched her shoulder. "Not you, Mary. I'm sorry, but I believe that may be too fast. We are working with time and parallel universes here. It could be dangerous to rush.

"Most humans don't know their parallel timelines. They go on with life, not realizing that they are fulfilling age old prophecies in other universes. Until they know their timelines, it's impossible for them to make a decision that would completely mess up the timelines. As soon as they know what _would_ have happened, they can change it.

"You need to be very careful. It's entirely possible that by rushing things you could rip a hole in the fabric of time and space itself."

"But Doctor, what if I want to do something that isn't written?"

"Based on what's happened before, I think that the things written are basically an outline. You could make a very important decision, like, say, moving to France, and it most likely wouldn't affect anything, as long as you marry John and stay in touch with Sherlock. If it happens in the book, it has to happen here, though not exactly in the same way. It has to have the same overall result. But if the book says nothing about it, then I suppose it's safe. It's all a bit confusing. Are you comprehending well?"

"I believe so. But, so basically, as long as 'The Final Problem' is finished in one way or another, and the end result is Sherlock hides for years, and both Moriarty and Sebastian are taken off the streets..."

The Doctor stopped in his tracks and grabbed Mary. He pulled her to the side of the alley, the hospital's back door in front of them and a busy street to their right.

"What are you suggesting, Mary?" the Doctor seemed frighteningly concerned as he took her by the shoulders and shook her a little.

Mary bit her lip. "Nothing, Doctor. It's just that..."

"What, Mary?!"

Mary thought that the Doctor seemed surprisingly desperate. Her words came out in a rush.

"If Moriarty is the Master, then he's a Time Lord. It's possible that he knows the story too, considering that he's one of the characters, right? What if when he died, he knew the real Reichenbach fall hadn't occurred yet. What if he set Sebastian on Sherlock to complete the real fall, and actually kill Sherlock? I mean, Moriarty died, and Sherlock waited... What if this is his chance to kill Sherlock before he dies of natural causes years from now? Now that Sherlock's waited and Moriarty is dead, they can do it without ripping a hole in the universe. Right?"

The Doctor leaned back against the alley wall, his face pale. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. His eyes showed the pure fear that now dominated his mind.

At last he shut his eyes and whispered, "Mary, what have I done?"

Now it was Mary's turn to take the Doctor's shoulders. "You've done nothing wrong. You couldn't have known. Maybe I'm not even right."

"No, Mary. It all makes sense now. I thought it was a little strange for Moriarty to give up so easily. And I wondered why Sebastian didn't immediately come after Sherlock like in the books. I figured it was just a minor glitch in the fabric between the universes, another thing changed slightly. That's why we've been so careful to keep Sherlock in hiding, we knew Sebastian would be after him eventually. Oh, why didn't I see it before?! It's been so obvious, how did the two smartest people on earth not see it? No offense, Mary."

Mary squinted her eyes and shook her head at him in a joking manner. "I'll never understand you. Never. You just refuse to speak plain english, don't you? Just have to throw in all your fancy 'holes in the fabric of time's trousers', 'tears in the neutron flow', 'breaks in something or other!' You can't just say 'oh, something's wrong. If we don't fix it the world ends!' Smartest people on earth my- You know what? Nevermind. How do we fix this? Sherlock dies, John dies, the universe blows. Or something."

The Doctor stood up straight, chuckling. "Wow, Mary. Wow. I just love humans! So passionate. What we do first, is find T. W."

"Great. How does this help us?" Mary jogged to keep up with the Doctor, who strode hurriedly towards the hospital's back door.

"Someone contacted John. They talked to him before his suicide attempt. They said or did something to earn his trust, and he told them before he jumped. Someone felt the need to _watch John and contact him_. We find this person, there's a good chance we can find someone who knows about Sebastian and Moriarty's plan."

"I see. And how are you going to get John to talk to you? Are you going to tell him who you are?"

The Doctor paused. "No, Mary. I'm going to be forced to do something horrible. I'm going to make Sherlock talk to him." The Doctor bowed his head and pushed the door to John's room open.

"Doctor Smith."

"Afternoon, John. Listen, I've just got your papers, and they've given the order to release you.

"Now, I'm completely happy with the news, it seems that you're doing brilliant. However, I'd like to make a suggestion. The man that saved you, Jonathan Walters, has been growing old. He resigned from his duties after saving you, and he's looking for a younger flatmate. He doesn't need cared for, and does his own shopping. He just wants someone to live with. He is a wonderful listener, and I think it would help if he moved in with you. Besides, I hear you're having a bit of trouble with the rent..."

John spoke slowly. "You mean... get a new... flatmate?"

"Exactly." The Doctor saw the look on John's face and continued hastily. "Not to replace Sherlock, John. Just so there's someone there. I believe it might settle your nerves. I know, it's a big choice, but I suggest you try it, if not make it permanent."

John looked slightly troubled. "What's he like, this Jonathan?"

"He's calm. A fantastic listener. He's very independent though, and tends to lock himself in his room. He's a bit..." the Doctor leaned in close, glancing around him. "...old."

John's face split into a small smile. "You've said, Doctor. Anything else?"

"Hm. He tends to have varying amounts of sass, depending on his mood, and tends to irritate people to no end. I think you two might get along fine. He seemed to be very interested in your health when he saved you."

John's smile grew slightly larger. "I think I might try this, Doctor. He seems a decent puzzle to keep my mind off of... things."

"A good choice, John. I'll talk to him, and he should be by your flat tomorrow, if that's alright."

"That's fine."

Doctor Smith turned towards the door, Mary in tow. Come on, John, I'll escort you downstairs."

As they entered the hall, Mary leaned towards the Doctor. "Doctor, what about his 'release papers'?"

"Taken care of. I used my sonic screwdriver on a computer on the way in. Did you not see? Allons-y!" He grinned.

Mary rolled her eyes. They had reached the lobby, and the Doctor leaned over the desk, flashing his psychic paper. "Doctor Smith. I believe John's release papers were sent out?"

The receptionist glanced at her computer. "Yes, that's correct. Congratulations, Doctor Watson." The receptionist smiled at John.

"Oh. Um. Thank you." John bobbed his head awkwardly and then turned to Doctor Smith and Mary.

"Well, thank you both. It's been a pleasure, Doctor." He shook the Doctor's hand, then turned to Mary. He hesitantly stuck out a hand, like a child offering a rose to his crush. "Thank you, Mary. Ahem. It, it... Thank you."

When Mary didn't take his hand, John started to lower it, blushing slightly. He longed for his cane, anything to lean against.

He looked up sharply when Mary gasped. He was shocked to find that she had tears in her eyes and a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, John." She reached for him and pulled him into a hug. "I hope you cheer up, John. Please." John lifted a hand to her shoulder and hugged her back.

"I will, Mary." John's eyes began to water, too. _What is going on here_, he thought.

As Mary pulled away she pushed a folded paper into John's hand and turned to the Doctor.

"Alright, Doctor. I'll be going now."

"Goodbye, Mary." The Doctor waved.

Mary hurried to the door and without turning around said, "Goodbye, John."

John barely had a chance to respond before she was out the door, hand to her mouth.

John shook his head at the Doctor. "What just happened?"

"I have no idea, John. But, whatever it was, I think it was brilliant."

They shook hands again and the Doctor waved as John neared the door.

"Jonathan will be by your flat tomorrow!"

"Alright. Thank you, Doctor Smith!"

And John began the familiar walk back to his flat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Alright! New chapter... I think. I've been so mixed up in my story I seriously hope that this is the next consecutive chapter I'm supposed to post. Ah! If it's not or it seems a little confusing send me a message. I think it's the right one... Shows how organized I am. Sorry it took so long, new season of Sherlock and all! Had to get my facts set straight again. If you haven't seen season three, I suggest you find a way to watch it online. It's brilliant! I should have a few more chapters soon, so thank you to all my faithful readers and please continue to read and enjoy! Don't forget to post reviews!**

As soon as John had left the building the Doctor ran to the back door and entered the alley. Mary was leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

Straightening up, she looked him in the face. "He's gone back to his flat?"

"Yes. I'm going to the TARDIS now to get Sherlock set up. You understood that I'm sending him in disguise to watch over John?"

"Yes. Is he going to find T. W. while he's there? He'll have access to all of John's things."

"Most likely. He's at least going to try."

"Brilliant. See, Doctor! We still have a chance!"

"Yes, Mary, we do."

They set off towards the TARDIS, the Doctor in the lead. When they reached it he aimed his sonic screwdriver at it and it appeared in front of them.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, calling out. "Sherlock! Sherlock! SHERLO-O-O-OCK!"

"What?! Is there a body? A note?" He gasped. "A video?" His face was lit up and he raced into the room, practically skidding to a stop to avoid hitting the Doctor and Mary.

The Doctor tilted his head back and laughed. "A little excited, are we? No, no. No body, sorry to disappoint. BUT, how would you feel about seeing John again?"

At the mention of no body, Sherlock had huffed and moved to slouch against the wall. Now, at the Doctor's words, he straightened.

Eyes flashing, he stepped towards the Doctor. "It's impolite to tease about a painful scar," he said in a dangerously low whisper. "You would not believe how much I have missed my blogger. He was the only friend I had."

Sherlock spun on his heel, heading towards the hallway.

"Sherlock -"

"No, Doctor. I don't care if it was only meant as a harmless joke. It isn't funny."

"Sherlock! I wasn't kidding."

Sherlock stopped abruptly. "What? You were serious? And put John in danger? I'd rather you were joking." Sherlock's eyes looked like icy daggers as he stepped towards the Doctor once more.

"My friend," he growled, "means more to me, _Doctor_, than anyone else on this bloody planet."

"Sherlock, let him speak!" Mary had crept up beside the Doctor and now spoke boldly to Sherlock's face. "The Doctor isn't _that_ thick! He knows the risks!"

The Doctor hardly had a chance to appear hurt at Mary's comment before Sherlock turned on him.

"Well?"

"I, I- ugh. I made sure John was released from Saint Bart's today. I suggested to him that he get another flat mate, and told him that Johnathan Walters had been looking into a flatshare with someone. I told John that Jonathan was an independent man, but that he would like a flatmate to keep him company. Someone he could talk to. And who better than the man he saved from suicide?

"You'd have to be disguised of course, and John wouldn't know it was you, but you could talk with him, and maybe help us find T. W. John said he'd try it."

Sherlock sighed deeply and leaned against the TARDIS's wall. He lowered his eyelids until only slivers of colour were visible and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, which he insisted upon wearing even inside the TARDIS.

After a moment, his eyes opened fully and he stared at the Doctor and Mary, his face as blank as an unused canvas.

"I'll do it. But I'm going to need a while. When do I need to meet him?"

"Tomorrow. And you can look in the TARDIS wardrobe for some decent old man clothing."

"Ah. I can tell that's where you got yours."

The Doctor glanced down at his suit and jacket, which had replaced the scrubs as soon as he entered the TARDIS.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Sherlock. "And Doctor, I'm going to need bags. Do you have any? No, of course you do. Where?" Before the Doctor could even think of a response, Sherlock had deduced the location of the luggage and was off into the depths of the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned to Mary. "At least we know he's in a good mood, he hasn't been that eager to do anything since two weeks ago when he gave some 'indirect assistance' in catching a serial killer. He somehow solved it by looking at the telly in the centre of the living room inside a victim's house."

Mary laughed. "Yes. I'm glad he agreed. It'll help John, I'm sure. And finding T. W. should be no problem for the world's only consulting detective."

The Doctor glanced at her. "Speaking of John, Mary, what did you give him?"

Mary turned slightly pink, and stared at her feet, embarrassed. "My mobile number and my address."

"Brilliant!" Mary flashed a strange look in the Doctor's direction. "Sorry. I just think that's wonderful. That'll really make him feel better, I think."

"I didn't rush things, did I Doctor?" Mary looked slightly worried as she remembered their earlier conversation.

"No, Mary. I don't believe you did." He glanced at the sky. "The world doesn't seem to be exploding, at least." He grinned again at Mary.

Mary laughed. "Alright, Doctor. If you say..."

Just then Sherlock burst into the room. At least, it _sounded_ like Sherlock as the man opened his arms in a sweeping bow and said, "Finished."

Besides the voice, Jonathan Walters looked nothing like Sherlock. He had thinning silver hair combed carefully over his head and brown eyes the colour of chocolate. His face appeared shorter and rounder than that of Sherlock, and he walked with a simple cane and a slight hunch to his shoulders. He sported a few wrinkles, but nothing that would have been too difficult for Sherlock to recreate daily. His overall appearance was that of a slightly elderly but overall joyful and athletic man.

"Well? What do you think?"

Mary gasped and the Doctor nodded approvingly. "Brilliant. The contacts and makeup add a fantastic touch." Mary could only shake her head.

"Thank you." Sherlock peeled off his wig, releasing his tousled mass of curly black hair. He tossed his cane against the control panel and straightened his back. With his youthful stance and dark hair contrasting to his wrinkled face, he looked like a strange mutation.

The Doctor clapped and stepped forward. "Just like in the books: a master of disguise! John will never know until the time comes when it is safe for you to tell him."

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Sherlock?" The Doctor had bent over a dial and now had his back to the detective.

"You never told me why you were so desperate to have me look for this T. W. anyway. What's so important about this particular person contacting John? You seem to be hiding something."

The Doctor hesitated and glanced at Mary. "It's just that... I think it may be Sebastian, Moriarty's assistant from the stories."

Sherlock looked taken aback. He obviously hadn't expected the Doctor to just TELL HIM. His face cleared quickly however, and he nodded. "Then I'll do all I can."

He gathered his cane and wig and left into the hallway.

Mary folded her arms and leaned against the wall. "Is that really what you think, Doctor?"

The Doctor glanced at Mary through the corner of his eye. "No."

There was a long and awkward pause, and Mary pushed herself off the wall to pace. "Well?"

The Doctor bit his lip. "I feared something much, much worse." and for the rest of the day the Doctor helped Sherlock pack and didn't say a word to Mary.


	14. Chapter 14

**Yay! Lucky you, two chapters in one day! Just kidding I have no idea if anyone's actually reading and enjoying this because NO ONE IS POSTING REVIEWS! ;) I truly hope someone is reading and enjoying this, though, and reviews ARE appreciated! I read every one and sometimes even use the ideas in the story. The readers are the people that have the most control over where this goes, so post a review and help me out! Thanks to everyone who's stayed with me this far!**

The next day it rained. The Doctor made sure that Sherlock had an abundance of makeup and contacts, along with "old man clothes". By the time Sherlock was all ready, it was 1 o'clock in the afternoon and Sherlock, Mary, and the Doctor each held at least three bags.

"Sherlock are all these really necessary?"

"Of course, Mary." Sherlock huffed. "I need all the supplies I can get my hands on if I'm going to find this T. W. and protect John."

"Still though, you couldn't have perhaps stuffed them into a few less bags?"

"No, Mary." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I believe I did quite a good job packing, and I'm sure you'd have not done much better. That is, going by the fact that you currently have your mobile, headphones, lipstick, pen, and a pack of gum all in one jacket pocket."

Mary shook her head. "And that means...?"

"Packrat. Obviously." Sherlock jumped into his deduction mode, speaking so fast Mary thought he might pass out from lack of air.

"You keep everything that you're currently carrying in one pocket. This implies that you often carry a lot at once, no matter how inconvenient. You haven't even really noticed that your one pocket is full and the others empty, meaning it's a habit to make space for other things. Obviously this shows that you keep everything you have. The simple deduction: packrat. I'm assuming you'd have packed no less than me, only your things would be useless junk with sentimental value."

Mary shook her head again. "You could have at least stuffed things together, as I've said. Would've prevented the bulkiness." Then under her breath, "leave a man to pack! Ha! Rubbish."

Sherlock was about to make a comment when the Doctor stepped in.

"Oh enough you two! You quarrel like an old couple! And I believe that Mary's reserved, Sherlock, sorry." Mary threw Sherlock a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He retaliated by mouthing "packrat" while the Doctor was looking at Mary.

"Now, Sherlock, John's going to be waiting for you. Remember, you're Jonathan Walters, an 72 year old man who's lived in London all his life but likes to travel. You said you had a nephew who tried the same suicide maneuver? Keep that in mind. No deducing, and you need to find T. W. John's life may depend on it."

Sherlock knew better than to argue or add a comment. Mary scooped up two more bags and the Doctor snapped. The TARDIS door flew open and the trio stepped through.

Once in the alleyway Jonathan began to lean heavily on his cane and walk like the old man he was pretending to be. He carried two small bags and a rucksack, while Mary and the Doctor carried the rest, the Doctor struggling to hold an umbrella over Sherlock and balance the bags at the same time. The Doctor waved for a cab and they set off for Baker Street.

Jonathan stared out the window the entire ride, deep in thought. Rain poured down the side of the cab, making it difficult to see. The only sound was the steady swipe of the windshield wipers and the drumming of the rain.

At last the Doctor broke the silence. "Are you sure you can do this, Jonathan? It's not an easy thing hiding from someone you know. Having them not even know who you are."

The Doctor's face formed a glazed look similar to Sherlock's as he remembered all of his own adventures. Donna in particular came to mind. How he'd erased her memory and watched her forget him.

Sherlock turned to him. "I can do it. You said yourself you valued humans for their loyalty and strength. Well here you go Doctor. A chance to see it in action. I'm going to need all of mine for this."

The cab rolled to a stop and the Doctor leaned forward. "Oi! Cabbie! Would you mind helping with the bags? I'll throw in an extra fiver!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the offer. He wouldn't have offered half that much.

The cabbie nodded and pulled up his hood.

Umbrella in tow, Mary ran up to the flat. Knocking on the door, she bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet. At last, Mrs. Hudson came to the door.

"Yes?"

"Hello! We've brough Jonathan over. We're here to help him settle in with John."

"Oh! You must be Mary! John's mentioned you. Although I think he barely scraped the surface when he said you were beautiful. Come in, dear!"

Mary reddened and stepped inside, setting the two bags she carried down at the foot of the stairs. The cabbie, the Doctor, and Jonathan soon followed. The cabbie tipped his cap and left, leaving Jonathan and the Doctor to shake the water off their clothes.

Mrs. Hudson stepped forward. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. You must be Jonathan." She shook Sherlock's hand, a sweet smile on her face. "I think it'll do John good to have a flatmate again. He's been ever so lonely since his last flatmate..."

"We know, Mrs. Hudson. I'm Doctor John Smith. I cared for John after he tried the same thing." The Doctor stepped forward and thrust out a hand.

Mrs. Hudson took his hand and smiled at him. "I'm so glad you three are so willing to help. John's considering moving out... I hope maybe you can convince him otherwise, Jonathan? He's already so lonely..."

"I'll do my best, Mrs. Hudson."

"That's good. Oh! Tea! Would you like some?"

The three companions were tired, cold, and wet. They gladly accepted their cuppas and headed upstairs.

When they reached the flat, Jonathan had to hold himself back from running straight in. "Where's John?"

Mrs. Hudson slipped the key in the lock and turned to him. "He went out for some milk. I'll bet the rain held him up a bit."

Jonathan could only smile to himself and say, "Ah. Milk."

They entered the flat. It had been tidied up, but it pained Jonathan to see that his spare scarf and coat still hung on the wall, along with the yellow smiley face and bullet holes. He also patted his bison skull and headphones when nobody was looking. How he had missed this flat!

Mary and the Doctor set the bags down in the extra bedroom at the end of the hall, by the restroom. They had to unlock the door before entering, and Jonathan almost gasped aloud when he saw that it was almost exactly as he'd left it.

The bed was made, but around it was a jumble of laboratory equipment and stray papers, empty coffee cans and tea kettles.

Jonathan turned to his friends. "Is John always this messy?" Playing the stranger.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him. "No. This was his old flatmate's room. Sherlock Holmes. Experiments and police work, you know."

Jonathan nodded. "Is John... attached to this stuff? I mean... do you think he'd mind me moving it a bit, maybe cleaning up?"

Mrs. Hudson looked around the room slowly. "He only asked that you don't break it and keep it in here, if you can. Maybe put it in the wardrobe. Bit of an inconvenience and rude, if you ask me, but -"

"No, no. It's fine. I understand. Sentiment." In reality, Sherlock didn't understand. SENTIMENT? Bleh. Weakness.

Mrs. Hudson walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was still a good measure taller than her, and she had to stretch. "Thank you for doing this, dear." Then she walked out.

"Doctor. Mary. Thank you. I think I can handle it from here."

Mary touched his arm. "Good luck, Sherlock. Good luck."

The Doctor nodded at him and followed Mary out the door.

Sherlock stared at the room. All of his beautiful things. He smiled with pride at the mess. Then he slowly began to pick up a little. He threw away all of the cups and mugs, most with a horrible stench accompanying them. He straightened and dusted his equipment, and had to stop himself from alphabetizing it. At last he gently boxed each piece in the cardboard John always kept beneath the sink and set it all in the wardrobe.

"Who says a man can't pack?" The boxes were stacked neatly and labeled simply, nothing too scientific to give him away. And there was still room for clothes.

He opened each of his bags and began to unpack. His clothes went into the closet, mostly loose jumpers and comfortable trousers, and a few nice dress clothes. He put the old man clothes first. And he couldn't help himself. He hung his long black overcoat in the very back. He hoped John had no reason to check the closet.

Now the only things he had left in his bag were his laptop, some hacking equipment, his personal hygiene supplies, his makeup, and a sonic thumbdrive capable of saving things much faster than a normal one and disrupting and tracing computer signals, if he wished.

He took out the makeup and such and set it on the bed. Where to put it? Then he stood up and went to the head of the bed. Above the headboard was a framed traditional Judo certificate. He tugged gently at the right side of the frame until he found the latch.

He pressed it gently and a small keypad popped out. He typed the code with his eyes closed, and the whole picture swung away from the wall. Inside the wall, his skull and the fake camera phone he'd used on Irene. MAYBE SENTIMENT WASN'T A HORRIBLE THING. He gathered the makeup and put it into the safe along with the sonic thumb drive. Problem solved.

He plugged in his laptop and settled himself on the bed. John should be back soon. It was going to be difficult to act, but nothing that he couldn't accomplish.

He sent a text to the Doctor and Mary. SET UP. JOHN NOT BACK. GOING TO LOOK AROUND. He logged off his laptop and tried to slide it onto the bedside table. However the sticky case caught and he fumbled with it before it fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. STUPID CASE. Jonathan bent and picked it up with the energy of a twelve year old. He needed to be more careful about his acting, he chastised himself.

He looked over his laptop carefully. It was fine. A short drop. The Doctor had made him put cases on all his electronics and he HATED it. Apparently John might recognise him from his laptop. Rubbish.

He set down the laptop carefully and stalked out to the kitchen. He wandered around, opening cabinets and pulling on drawers, but he wasn't hungry. At last he moved to John's desk. Nothing had changed. The two chairs, John's laptop, the paintings. Everything was the same as it had been the day he left.

He glanced at the door, then out the window. No John. Jonathan settled in John's computer chair and opened the laptop. On second thought, he rushed into his bedroom and got the thumb drive.

Sitting again at the desk he looked at the password box. He COULD sonic it... but this would be more fun.

He glanced around the desk. He felt the layer of dust. Fresh. Not deep. Maybe a few days old. The last time John had cleaned. Reorganized. Possibly changed his password. What had been going on that day? Where was John?

Sherlock leaned back. When he sat up, he wasn't Sherlock. Or Jonathan. He was John.

He hadn't been home since the hospital. So it was the day he'd been released. John sits down at his desk. What does he have? Is he holding anything? He dusts off his laptop and desktop. He decides he should change his laptop passcode. An old military security habit.

He leans back. What should it be? He's looking around. Opens one of the drawers. Aha! A paper. Recently held by him. A phone number. Sherlock has seen that writing before. Bold letters. Simple, easy to mix up with anyone elses. MARY.

When Sherlock sits up, he's back to himself. He smirked at the laptop. "Not so difficult, are you?"

Mary's too short. Sherlock placed his hands on the keyboard and typed slowly. M-O-R-S-T-A-N. Sherlock's finger hovered over the enter key. How he had missed this!

He pressed it and the laptop began to whir. He clapped once and settled back. John's desktop appeared. Files of case information and shortcuts to his blogging sites. The wallpaper had changed, though, Sherlock observed.

It had originally been a painting of Sherlock in his deerstalker done by a fan of John's blog. John had set it as the wallpaper just to bug Sherlock. Now it was the green field and white clouds that came with almost every computer on earth.

Sherlock grabbed the wireless mouse. He began clicking around. His clicks weren't organized or methodic, and it bothered him that a change of John's background had affected him so much. He repeated Mycroft's words under his breath. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

At last Sherlock stumbled across John's messaging. He sonic-ed his way past a few more passcodes and located the message from T. W. with no trouble at all. He double checked the window and door, and then sat back down.

He began to scroll, muttering the words under his breath. They were meant to be kind and caring, to bring hope. To him, they sounded overly done, like a new mother that doesn't know how to comfort her crying baby.

Who would message John with fake compassion? T. W. had given no further hints as to who he was or what he really wanted from John. There weren't any hidden messages, skip codes, or concealed files. And the messages stopped there. John had sent a reply, with his suicide note. T. W. hadn't messaged back or given any hint that he would or wouldn't do anything about it.

Sherlock went back and clicked the link T. W. had sent. The page actually made him smile. And John had been worried about his public image? He had fans that had denied all reason to believe he was alive. It was complete rubbish! Their ideas were far fetched and ludicrous. Typical.

He watched the videos of his death over and over until the pain was overwhelming. Was this what John had seen? Was this the death of Sherlock through his best friend's eyes? Sherlock felt himself slipping into his mind palace. No! Not here.

The rain was stopping. It was only a drizzle now, and John would be home soon. Sherlock took one last look at the laptop screen. Then he used the thumbdrive to clear the memory and log off. He snapped it shut and wandered back to his room just as a cab pulled up to the front of the flat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Yay, another chapter! I'm on a roll! The following chapter introduces a new special guest! In other words... another mystery. ;) Please welcome... Torchwood! The Torchwood ideas were inspired by Amber Come Midnight when I received a message in reply to one of my author's notes. Thanks Amber! Please, please, please leave a review or send a message! It helps!**

Jonathan settled himself on his bed, laying on his side so that if John walked in he could pretend to be asleep. In his mind palace he ran through all the information he had found.

T. W. wanted a fake sense of friendship toward John. He wanted to give him "hope". He wanted John to trust him. And in one message, John had. Enough to tell them his plan. What did T. W. want?

Jonathan raked his memory for anything helpful. He ran through his alphabetised files. T. W. The Woman. No. He knew everything she'd been doing. She'd have told him she messaged John. Who was it?! It was driving him mad.

The cab had since pulled away, and Sherlock heard the first footsteps on the stairs. Only they weren't John's. He _knew_ those footsteps. And a light tap every other step when an umbrella hit the floor.

He slid out of bed. Grabbing his cane, he hobbled out into the hall. "Who's there?"

He stepped slowly into the living room and eased himself onto the sofa as the door opened. Mycroft stepped through, all business and umbrella ties.

"You must be Mr. Walters. I had been informed that John was getting a new flatmate. I'm Mycroft Holmes." He stuck out a hand. Jonathan took it eagerly. Inside, Sherlock smiled. Why not play his brother the fool a bit? He obviously didn't know.

"Not relative to Sherlock Holmes, perhaps?!"

Mycroft's lips turned down at the edges. "That's the one."

"Really! Ah! The best detective that ever lived, he was. Do you have similar powers? Oh, obviously not... just look at that tie... Ah. Oh well. Still! Pleasure to meet you. I'm a big supporter of Sherlock. Such a shame he had to go and..."

Mycroft was openly frowning now. "Indeed. You know, I came here to talk business. I need someone on my side to watch John. Someone to protect him. I heard you saved his life. I can pay you."

"Pay me to spy on my flatmate? I'm just an old man wanting to settle down. I don't need your money."

Mycroft was beginning to get irritated. "Don't you care about John?! This is his safety we're discussing!"

That was when Sherlock began to laugh. Mycroft was fuming. Most people he went to were intimidated or in want for money. As soon as the first chuckle escaped Sherlock's lips, Mycroft stood up.

"Is the safety of this man nothing to you? Maybe I should just have you removed from the flat!"

Sherlock leapt up from his chair, tossing aside his cane and strutting over to Mycroft. In his own voice, clear and crisp, he leaned forward and laughed.

"Brother dear, of course John's safety is important to me! I did happen to jump off a building for him. Which, on second thought, probably hurt him more than the pavement hurt me."

Mycroft stumbled back. For the first time since his second year of primary school, his kid brother had surprised him. The look of surprise and anger on his face was quickly replaced by cool neutralism.

"Now, Sherlock. What on earth are you doing in this bloody flat?!" Mycroft's voice had quickly gone from under control to shouting, and his barricade crumbled. Sherlock didn't even flinch.

"Going undercover, of course. Exactly what you were trying to do through Jonathan Walters. And if you might oblige, brother dear, a lowered voice might preserve my cover a bit longer. We are approximately a year too early. It's not safe for John yet, which is why I'm here."

"Don't be ridiculous! Sherlock, you faked your death! I had wishes. I had hopes, I'll admit. But how? And you want me to lower my voice? William Sherlock Scott Holmes! I am talking to a _ghost_! You always were so insolent. It's no wonder you drove mummy out of her mind."

Mycroft slumped on the sofa, his head in his hands.

His voice cracked. "Sherlock. How -"

Sherlock sat next to his brother. Mycroft had never shown this much emotion. None the less next to his brother. It was odd.

"Mycroft. Focus. Turn on your business side. Yeah. I'm alive. I faked it for certain reasons we can talk about later. But now I need to do this. John may be in danger. I'm undercover. Don't blow it."

"Ah. Brother. All 'friendship is important now', are we? I'll help. But you can't go flinging yourself off every building you see because you're stressed. Mummy had a fit!"

"I am not stressed, Mycroft!"

"Ah. Right. Could have fooled me."

"Stop 'ah'-ing me."

"I can do as I please."

"Mycroft!"

"Yes, small brother?"

"You know what, you little -"

There was a knock at the door. Anthea stood there, her face almost completely smashed to the screen of her phone as she hammered away at the keys.

"Mr. Holmes, that woman you told me to watch has left her flat. What would you like me to do?"

She obviously hadn't heard the conversation and Sherlock resumed his old man pose before she looked up.

Mycroft stood and looked directly at her, purposely ignoring Sherlock. "Send someone to follow her. Send Andrew. He'll know what to do."

Anthea nodded and walked out, completely ignoring Sherlock as Jonathan.

Sherlock turned to his brother, posture and attitude back in place. "You're following someone."

"Good observation, Sherlock. I see you haven't lost your touch."

Sherlock squinted and made a sarcastic face, tilting his head to the left and scrunching his nose. "Who?"

Mycroft sighed and looked at him. "A professor."

Sherlock bristled. _Hadn't the Doctor mentioned that someone in the books was a professor? Was it Moriarty or Sebastian? Moriarty. But he's dead!_

"A professor _who_, Mycroft. You're wasting time. John will be back soon."

"A professor River Song, if you must know."

"Tell me more. I need to know everything that goes on. John may be in danger. Don't forget that, Mycroft."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but seemed resigned to telling his brother everything. After all, John was his only friend.

"You'd best sit."

"I'll stand, thank you." Sherlock began to pace as Mycroft shrugged and took a seat on the sofa.

"Alright. Two weeks ago, we had an anonymous informant tell us that someone dangerous was out in London. He gave us information and a description, and extra information regarding his companions."

Sherlock started at the use of the Doctor's word for his friends. _No. Everyone has rights to that word, Sherlock_.

"Companions?"

"Yes. The caller used that exact word."

"I see."

Mycroft looked closely at his brother. There was obviously something he wasn't telling him.

"Anyway. He gave us the information. Apparently he's a wanted criminal in many places. Underground societies including the Skaro and the Raxacoricofallapatorius league have been looking for this man. The societies are top secret and devoted to protecting their countries. They can't be found on the internet or in the paper."

"Wait. Raxacoricofallapatorius? What language is that?"

"It's not. It's a code of some sort, I've heard. It makes them harder to research because it sounds like gibberish."

"But I've heard it before."

Mycroft shook his head. "Probably supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. That's Mary Poppins, Sherlock."

"Hm. That must be it."

"But this man is a wanted criminal. He's responsible for the deaths of many people."

"But you're watching a woman."

"Yes. One of his 'companions'. I don't know every thing about her. It seemed like she's dangerous, but the most exciting thing that's happened within the last week was her buying cereal."

"Cereal."

"I don't know Sherlock. There's nothing strange about her but her name. Some indian thing, I think."

"Right. And what about the man that's wanted by everyone? What's his name?"

"According to the informant, he goes by many names. John Smith is one of them."

Sherlock stopped pacing. He turned and stared at Mycroft. _Doctor_. He recovered quickly, though. "What, like, Pocahontas? Is everything a Disney movie?! I think you're chasing a lunatic, Mycroft."

Mycroft frowned. "Either way, we're looking into it.

"Two weeks ago, when the anonymous caller rang us about this man and his companions, he offered us help. We were introduced to the association that he was calling from. Torchwood. They offered us their help in exchange for our help. They needed to find this man."

"Ok. So Torchwood is looking for this man, 'John Smith' and you're watching his companion, Professor River Song, and your stuck-up government people are working with the Torchwood association. You had an anonymous caller that got you set up with Torchwood and he never gave his name, like an online dating site. Then you send this man, Andrew, to watch John Smith's companion. Mycroft, is any of what you're doing even real?"

"Of course, Sherlock. I looked into everything! The Skaro and Raxacoricofallapatorius groups of course can't be found, they're secret. And Torchwood has all of the paperwork and credentials. It's all perfectly real."

"The rain's stopped."

"What?"

"Estimating John's departure time based on the time the rain stopped, he should be arriving in approximately six minutes. He still shops at the same place, right?"

"Yes." Mycroft shook his head and stood up. "I suppose I'll leave."

"And Mycroft? Tell me everything as it happens. This is John's life, we're talking about."

"I will, little brother. Good luck, Jonathan."

Mycroft's cab started off down the street just as John's pulled up.


End file.
